


Like Sunshine

by treasonlikebeauty



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Art History, M/M, Memory of Suicidal Thoughts, Mental Health Issues, Neurodiversity, Painting, Past Suicide of an OC, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8738401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treasonlikebeauty/pseuds/treasonlikebeauty
Summary: Rarely, if ever, does life work out just like you plan it. Konoha Akinori set out in life to be the best at… something. Potentially (but as of yet unproven to be) the world’s foremost expert on Picasso’s Blue Period, he finds his life a bit… stalled. Not only did the path that led him to his expertise leave more than a few marks, it turns out a PhD in Art History doesn’t exactly help you get a real job outside of academia. But there is one good thing going for him: he has found the city’s best café. And the first face he ever saw there was Hinata Shouyou’s.
Or, Konoha is grumpy and frequently flustered, Hinata is a cheeky fucker, and the allusions to background ships are Just Delightful (if I do say so myself).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Let’s put this right here at the top: Here’s an explanation of the suicide warnings. ***Obviously not spoiler free. If you don’t want to know, then skip to the next paragraph.*** We’ve got the previous (many years prior) suicide of an OC, and a suicide attempt made by Konoha around the same time. We also have Konoha, who is **not** feeling suicidal (but is in a bad headspace) experiencing flashes of memory from a time when he **was** suicidal. Nothing physically graphic, but you are in his head when it is not a happy place to be. If you have any more questions, or want directions on how to read the fic but avoid certain parts, drop me a line on tumblr (@[treasonlikebeauty](http://treasonlikebeauty.tumblr.com/)) and I’ll hook you up. Stay safe, everybody. <3
> 
> Now that that’s out of the way… So apparently I am the First Person Ever to post a fic with this ship to AO3. Do I get a prize for that? I think the prize is: no one will ever find it. Yayyyy. #rarestpairhell (#iwasborntomakehistory)
> 
> Anyway. This was written for Hinata (very) Rare Pair Week 2, Day 3. Prompts used were: **[Patone 2197 C](https://www.pantone.com/color-finder/2197-C)/‘Blue Ain’t Your Color’** and **Coffee Shop**. Sadly, insofar as my contributions to HRPW2 go, this is it. Balloon 3/3. Smallest balloon by far, but still not as short as it was supposed to be. It is of course as despairingly unedited as days one and two, so I hope you’ll bear with me for the time being. It will be polished up when my beta isn’t working 12-hour days anymore.
> 
> While I did in fact oil paint for a few years, that was wayyyy back in the day, and I have undoubtedly forgotten things. I did my best. And here, have a fun fact! When I was planning my Day 1 story, Terushima was going to be a tattoo artist, and that’s how he and Hinata were going to meet. Thank fuck I mentioned it to the bestie, because it turns out that tattoos are NOT the same in Japan as they are in the US. Where I am, soccer moms have tattoos. But in Japan, the people getting tattoos are either gaijin getting some culturally appropriative ink, or Yakuza. That’s it. Those are your two options. And now I get to put that knowledge to good use! Ha!

_When Konoha was in high school, he got very consistent grades. Good grades, but not great, in every single subject. It led his dad to call him a jack of all trades. It caught on, first with his family, then his friends. Konoha liked it, liked being handy at everything, until someone finally tacked on the, ‘master of none.’ His friends may not all have known that second clause, but his mom? His dad? They knew. They knew and they said it anyway._

_Well fuck that, and fuck them. He was going to become not just a master, but_ the _master—the world’s best… something. He’d work that out in a minute._

~

Konoha was exhausted, navigating through the city streets using little more than muscle memory. When he pulled open a door and was assaulted by the scent of espresso and baked goods, at least thirty percent of the tension in his neck and shoulders drained away. Café Karasuno was currently his last bastion in which all was good and right with the world.

He’d been coming here an average of three times a week for the past year and a half. Laptop in tow, same order, and ideally the same table; it always rubbed him the wrong way when he arrived and someone was already seated there.

It hadn’t been his intention to learn so much about the lives of the shop’s employees, but hey, three times a week for a year and a half. Shouty only attended university to play on the school volleyball team, and if his griping wasn’t exaggerated, his grades reflected it. Like, a _lot_. Shorty 1.0 was a musician, and was either dating or just forever hopelessly hitting on Shy Giant, who was studying to become a veterinarian. Wannabe Casanova was desperately in love with Peppermint Mocha, but Konoha had seen her with Chai Tea Latte, Whole Milk, and yeah, that was never happening. The Triplets (so what if they looked nothing alike?) seemed to be the most stable and reliable members of the staff, but were rarely on bar or register, as they were responsible for the vast array of sweet and savory baked goods in the cases. There was a pair, Asshole and Freckles, who didn’t seem to actually be employees, but would occasionally drop by and cover a shift. There was also an older couple who stopped by from time to time, and at first Konoha had assumed they were the owners of the shop. They certainly looked the part in their clearly expensive suits, and the shop employees were all deferential to them. All, that is, except one.

Shorty 2.0: The Remix. He was the first employee Konoha met, the very first time he came to the shop. It was one of those interactions that should have driven him crazy. When he orders a drink, he would like the exact drink he ordered, delivered promptly and without conversation. But that Remix. Konoha got through ordering and paying without incident, but while Remix was making his drink, he called out, “So I’m gonna try something here, bear with me, okay?” Konoha would have liked to think he kept the annoyance off his face, but he knew himself too well for that. Remix didn’t seem to care though, just grinned at him.

Whatever he ‘tried’ clearly didn’t take long, because he placed a mug on the counter in short order. “Here,” he said, “is your drink.” Konoha reached for it, but Remix held up a finger, then placed a second, identical mug beside the first. “And here,” he turned the handle toward Konoha, “is another drink.” Konoha shot him a dubious look, and he laughed. “C’mon, try it. It’s free, and if you hate it, the drink you ordered is right here.”

Konoha gingerly picked up the second mug. “What is it?”

“Just try it! Live a little!”

Konoha sighed, but took a sip. His eyes widened. “Okay, yes, that is… what is that?”

Remix lit up like the sun. “Lavender! It’s lavender syrup instead of vanilla. Subtle, but…” he shrugged. “You seem like a guy who appreciates subtle.”

Konoha couldn’t help a tiny smirk. “Something tells me subtle is not your field of expertise.”

Remix laughed. “I’ll have you know my expertise is vast and varied.”

“If you say so.” He was still holding the second mug, but looked at the first one.

“You can have them both. I’ll even reheat one if it gets cold.” (Mug one ended up cold.)

Konoha inclined his head, then took a mug in each hand. “You said live a little. I’ll have you know I live plenty.” And in an utterly uncharacteristic show of audacity, he threw him a wink.

Which unfortunately led Remix to refer to him as Lavender Wink often enough that it caught on with the other employees. He’d used a card once or twice, but usually paid cash, and he honestly had no idea whether or not any of them knew his real name. To be fair, they were presumably in the same boat.

The point of all this is that at first, Remix had seemed nothing more than another barista, albeit a cheeky one. And it’s not like Konoha was following the comings and goings of the employees; he was there to work. But spend enough time somewhere and you pick things up. Everyone gave Remix shit, but they still seemed to turn to him for answers. He got there earlier, and he stayed later. He was the one who talked with the builders when they replaced the long bar along one wall, and with the plumbers when a pipe burst.

Then about three months ago, Konoha got his confirmation. Sharp Suits were in the shop, talking to Remix. By pure chance, there was a lull in the music Konoha was listening to just as Suit 1 said, “We’re so proud of you, Shouyou.”

Konoha immediately paused his music. He kept looking at his laptop screen, but was only really aware of his peripheral vision.

Remix rubbed the back of his neck and blushed a little. “Thanks, Suga. I know it was a kind of out-there request when I asked you for help, but it turns out there actually _is_ something else I’m good at!”

“We were all but positive you’d make it,” Suit 2 continued. “But to be able to pay back the entirety of our investment this fast?” Suit 2 shook his head. “You’ve got something special here, Hinata.”

The conversation devolved from there into what basically amounted to shop gossip, and Konoha started his music back up, secure in his newfound knowledge.

And it was precisely that knowledge that made the scene currently unfolding in front of him so absurd.

It was the end of the night, Konoha was the only one left in the shop. The shop was actually closed, but out of either kindness or a desire for larger tips, Remix always let him stay until he closed up. The door was locked, the neon was off, and the wooden sign was flipped to closed, but someone had still started banging on the door. When Remix opened the door a fraction to explain that they were closed, the man outside just pushed his way in, nearly knocking Remix off his feet. Konoha felt a stab of anger. The man started rattling off a long list of coffee orders, garbled enough that Konoha suspected he’d been drinking.

Remix dragged a hand over his face, then walked up to the man wearing a customer service smile. “Sir, we’re currently closed. I’ll have to ask you to come back when we open tomorrow morning.”

The man drew himself up to his full height. “Nonsense, there are three patrons right there,” he waved a hand at Konoha, who snorted. _Definitely_ drunk. “I insist you serve me immediately.”

“Sir, you really do have to come back in the morning. Or, better yet, not at all.”

The man whirled toward Remix. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“You heard.”

“Well then, young man. I _insist_ that I speak with your supervisor!”

Remix wasn’t fazed. “I am the supervisor.”

“The manager, then!” the man said imperiously.

“I’m that, too,” Remix said with a smile.

The man made a sound of disgust. “What sort of employer would make someone like _you_ a manager?”

Remix grinned, saccharine sweet. “Well I’ll tell you what kind.” He spread his hands wide and the grin turned sharp. “ _This_ kind. So sorry you don’t like _my_ shop, sir. If you’d like to file a complaint with, well, me, please do! I’m sure I’ll do exactly what I should with it. In the meantime, may I suggest leaving and never coming back?”

The man looked positively apoplectic, and Konoha honestly thought he might start screaming. What he actually did was worse. With an unsteady lunge, the man swung a fist at Remix. Konoha leapt to his feet, but… whoa. Remix had not only dodged the punch, he already had the man in some sort of submission hold against the nearest table.

“Now then,” Remix was saying casually. “I think I was perfectly clear, and if I do say so myself, positively _delightful_ in my delivery. You gonna head home now like a good boy?”

The man was struggling, face bright red. “You sonofabitch! I’ll have you arrested for this!”

“Funny thing is, I don’t think that’s how this is going to go down,” Remix carried on. “If anything, you’ll be the one arrested. See him over there?” he nodded toward Konoha. “That’s what cops like to call a witness. And what did you see, o hapless bystander?” Remix called out dramatically.

Konoha had to fight to keep a straight face. “I watched the whole thing, sir. You went for the shop owner, hard, but missed by, wow, a _really_ big margin and uh… I think you might have fallen down at that point. After all, you were very clearly intoxicated. But even after you made all that fuss, he didn’t lay a finger on you.” He shrugged. “I guess some people are just born good.”

The man was starting to look woozy, the anger slowly drowning in his brain’s bid for unconsciousness. “Shit,” Remix said. “Help me with him?”

Together they wrangled him out of the shop and onto a bench at the nearest bus stop. He started shouting twice (about nothing that made sense), but didn’t struggle, for the most part. The ‘least’ part was another wild swing, and unfortunately, Konoha didn’t have Remix’s quick reflexes. He dodged well enough to keep it a glancing blow rather than a direct hit, and it probably wouldn’t even have hurt that much if it hadn’t been for the asshole’s ring.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” Remix said, two fingers on Konoha’s jaw tilting his cheek into the light. “Broke the skin though. I’ll get some antiseptic.” He disappeared into the back, but returned with surprising speed. He must have read Konoha’s face, because he laughed and said, “I’ve got some accident-prone employees.” Then he coughed and added, “And uh, yeah. I might be part of the problem, too.” He pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves and opened a packet containing an antiseptic wipe. “It’ll only sting for a sec.” Konoha didn’t flinch, but it was a near thing. When the scrape was clean, Remix grabbed a small brown bottle and opened it. The top was a brush, and he dipped it into whatever the liquid inside was and painted it across the broken skin. Konoha hissed. “Oops, yeah, that stings, too.”

“What even is it?” Konoha asked, resisting the urge to touch the wound area.

“Liquid bandage. Let it dry.” He recapped the bottle. “We wash our hands a lot. Adhesive bandages are basically useless.”

“Huh. I wouldn’t have thought of that,” Konoha remarked. “Effective solution.”

One corner of Remix’s mouth turned up. “Thanks ever so.”

Konoha returned the half smile. “I do try to recognize good work.”

Remix rolled his eyes, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the counter. “Can I get you anything? By way of reward?”

Konoha almost said no. The shop was all but shut down, surely there wasn’t much he could… “Oh, uh, maybe just some tea? Something that isn’t caffeinated.”

“On it.” Remix prepared the tea with a minimum amount of fuss, in short order bringing a pot and two cups over to the tiny table where Konoha was seated. He set everything down then took a seat across from Konoha. “So, Konoha Akinori, what’s a nice guy like you doing in a café like this?”

Konoha smiled inwardly. “Well, Hinata Shouyou,” turned out surprise looked pretty good on Remix, “maybe I just enjoy the ambience.” He blew on his tea and took a cautious sip.

Remix—Hinata—recovered quickly. “Well done, you. And flattered as I am, Mr. Konoha—”

“Hey. That’s _Dr._ Konoha, thank you very much.”

Hinata’s eyebrows shot up. “I did _not_ catch that,” he said. “I must be slipping. Doctor of?”

“Art history.”

Hinata kept looking at him, but narrowed his eyes a little, and cocked his head to one side. He was silent for a few beats, then said, “That’s not what you want to be, though, is it?”

“Ah… well… um. Yeah, actually. I mean no. As in, ‘no it is not.’ How did you, uh…” he was clearly not answering the question gracefully and so stopped, hoping he hadn’t sound as flustered as he felt (but knowing he had).

Hinata shrugged. “I’m good at people. Wasn’t always, but a business like this? You learn fast.”

“So how did you end up owning a coffee shop at your age?” Konoha asked, taking a sip of tea. “Was it something you’d always been planning?”

“Oh _god_ no,” Hinata said with a laugh. “Didn’t even cross my mind until a couple years ago. I had… other plans.”

Konoha was sure he shouldn’t press, but after a long gulp of tea, Hinata continued.

“I played volleyball. In high school, I mean. And man, it was everything I wanted. I was gonna keep going until they made me stop. Just turned out ‘they’ was my knee, and the ‘until’ was before I’d even graduated.” He smiled, but looked sad. “Everybody’s got something that didn’t work out.”

Konoha glanced at his laptop. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess they do.”

Hinata followed his gaze. “What was yours, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Art,” Konoha said simply. “I wanted to paint. My parents… were not fans. They don’t exactly love art history either, but, ‘at least I can be academic.’ Though that’s not progressing much at the moment either.”

Hinata tapped Konoha’s laptop. “So I have to ask… what is it you’ve been working on for a year and a half?”

“Ah, yes. I’m uh…” Konoha stalled with drinking his tea, but eventually had to say, “writing a book.”

“Oohh!” Hinata perked right up. “What’s it about? What genre? No, don’t tell me. Um… mystery? No, no,” he said before Konoha could interject. “Um… historical fiction?” Suddenly his eyes got huge. “Oh my god please tell me you’re writing porn. Sorry, ‘erotica.’”

Konoha was just staring at Hinata in horror, and it took him a moment to say, “Uh, no. I… no. Non-fiction.”

Hinata heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, Dr. Konoha. I mean, I figured, but I do my best to live in hope.” He poured more tea into his cup. “So what’d the topic?”

“Picasso. Or well, Picasso’s blue period, specifically.” He looked down at his mug and slowly spun it, then raised it to his lips. “It’s what I wrote my dissertation on. And I’ve been working on this book for… a while. I want to…” He shrugged, uncomfortable. “I want to be the world’s leading expert on the subject. I certainly know it better than anyone I’ve met, but… there’s no real way of knowing, is there?”

“That is… _incredibly_ specific, and also completely badass!” Hinata grinned. “I feel like I know someone famous!”

Konoha’s face heated up and he prayed he wasn’t visibly blushing. “Oh, uh, I don’t think that’s exactly—”

“Nonsense,” Hinata said over him. “I think it’s amazing.” He pointed at Konoha’s almost-empty cup, and Konoha nodded, so he poured more tea. “So, do you still paint?”

“When I’ve got the time, yeah.” Konoha sipped his fresh tea. “But I don’t get to do what I want with it, really. I love oils, but that’s… pretty pricey for a hobby.”

Hinata frowned. “But don’t you…” he trailed off. “Huh. Yeah, I guess… what do you do? When not painting or writing a book. Or sleeping, I guess. Eating… doing laundry… all chores really…” Konoha delicately cleared his throat. “Right? What pays the bills?”

Konoha wanted to hide his face in his hands. “Ugh,” he groaned. “This is embarrassing. I work retail.”

Hinata opened his mouth, then shut it again.

“Yeah,” Konoha said. “I know. Putting that PhD to good use,” he added sardonically. “Needless to say, I did not provide my full academic history when I applied.”

Hinata looked at Konoha, then the teapot, then Konoha again. “Okay, we need something stronger than this.”

Konoha glanced at the time, but then there was Hinata, looking so open and happy. No contest. “Sounds good.”

Fucking hell, Konoha was really too old to be drinking bottom shelf liquor. At least they were drinking water. Hinata had just asked him something, and he dialed his focus back in. “Sorry, what was that?”

“What are you going to call your book?” Hinata asked.

Konoha narrowed his eyes at him. Hinata was sitting steady as a rock in his chair, eyes bright and clear, his speech perfectly articulate. The bastard looked sober. “How are you not drunk?” he groaned. “You’re fucking tiny.”

“Hey!” Hinata said in what was clearly mock affront. “I resemble that remark!”

Konoha snorted. “But for real though. How?”

“It’s my superpower. By day, mild-mannered—” Konoha shot him an unimpressed stare. “By day, loud and pushy Hinata Shouyou, café proprietor. By night, the powerful Iron Liver, defending the drunkards of the city.” He laughed.  “Or defeating them. It’s a case-by-case thing.” He poked Konoha’s arm, which was currently stretched across the table. “But c’mon, what?”

Konoha frowned. “What, ‘what?’”

“Title of your book,” Hinata reminded him.

“Ohhhh, right.” He sighed and laid his head on his arm. “I have _no_ idea.  Been thinking about it for _years_. Was basically a kid when I started the… the uh…” he looked up at Hinata hopefully. “What’s it?”

Hinata was really struggling to hold in laughter. “Book.”

“Yes!” Konoha said, snapping his fingers. “That’s the one.” He reached for his tumblr, but before he managed to get hold of it, Hinata moved it out of his reach.

“Water actually sounds way better right now, don’t you think?”

Konoha considered this for a moment, then nodded. “It’s my favorite drink.”

Hinata looked at him strangely. “Wait, really?”

Konoha tried to nod and drink at the same time, and both suffered for it. “Yep. Since all the times. Or wait no. I liked the other one. For a little. As a kid. Like, a _kid_ kid, not college kid,” he clarified, then frowned in concentration. “Milk! Yeah. But mostly water. It’s water. It’s _been_ wa…” he yawned.

“Drink a little more of that, okay?” Hinata asked, pushing the water a little closer. “I’ll be right back, just have to do the dishes.”

Konoha nodded, and let his eyes slide shut.

A couple seconds later, Hinata was back, and his hand on Konoha’s shoulder. “All done,” Hinata said with a smile.

“Fast!” Konoha said, impressed.

Hinata chuckled. “You fucking cutie. Where do you live?”

Konoha dragged himself back into a seated position. “Not far. Twenty, thirty minutes? Close.” He tucked his laptop into his bag and rose to his feet. And abruptly swayed hard enough it took both Remix— _Hinata_ —and the table to keep him upright.

“Yeah, you’re not going anywhere,” Hinata said.

“No, no, I’m good. I got this.” Konoha let go of his supports and started walking. Or rather, took a step. Hinata was suddenly much taller. “You’re taller.” Something hurt. “Ow.”

“Okay honey, here we go.” Hinata reached for him and after some shifting and maneuvering, Konoha had an arm around Hinata’s shoulders, and Hinata had an arm around Konoha’s waist.

“Where are we going?” Konoha asked as they slowly moved through the café.

“Not far,” Hinata said as he navigated them around the counter.

Konoha nodded and kept walking. “Where are we going?”

Hinata huffed a laugh. “My place. A.k.a., upstairs.”

“Oh, oh no,” Konoha said, worried. “I don’t want to in… to in… invest, interest, intrigue, intrinsic,” he recited under his breath.

Hinata hiked Konoha’s arm a little more firmly around his shoulders. “Don’t worry, Doctor. I promise you’re not intrinsic.” He grabbed the banister with his other hand. “Okay, we’ve got to make it up these, then we’re good, okay?

“Got it.” And he did, after a fashion. He didn’t take in much of the apartment. Hinata left him in the WC with a new toothbrush, toothpaste already applied, and Konoha sluggishly went about a bare minimum of nighttime ablutions. Hinata eventually returned and guided him to a bed. Some of his clothing came off maybe? “My phone?” Konoha asked. Then his eyes got huge. “My meds!” He tried to get out of bed, but Hinata pressed him back down.

“It’s okay,” Hinata soothed. “I’ll find everything.”

“Left front pocket. Silver pillbox, rubber band. Won’t stay… won’t stay shut.”

Hinata returned with phone, charger, meds, and a glass of water all in tow. “Do you know which ones you need to take?” he asked as he opened the pillbox.

Konoha nodded slowly. “Mhmm. Four big white, two pink, one small white.”

Hinata counted out the pills and handed them over, helping Konoha with the water. “There’s that taken care of, and I’ve got your phone charging on the windowsill. Anything else?”

“Mmph. No. Thank you.” Konoha rolled onto his side and turned his face into the pillow. “Good night, Remix,” he mumbled.

“Good ni… sorry, _what?_ ”

But Konoha was dead to the world.

~

Konoha awoke to his alarm going off. But when he opened his eyes, it was dark out. Why would his alarm be going off when it was still dark? And actually, wait, it sounded weird, too. That was… “What?!” he yelped when something he was touching moved all on its own.

“Shhhhhh,” the something said. Then, “Drink this.” Then, “Go back to sleep.” There was pressure and warmth near his face, and that was all he knew until his alarm—his real alarm—started going off at nine.

It took him a while to piece together where he was and what had happened the night before, but when he did, his face heated up. And yeah, okay, he smiled a little. His pillbox and a glass of water were sitting on the bedside table, and his smile widened. His jeans and button-down were hanging on the back of the door, and his phone battery was at 100%.

He took his time washing up and getting re-dressed. He didn’t have to be at work until three, so had plenty of time to hang around the café. If, that is, he was still welcome.

Wannabe Casanova was the first to spot Konoha as he descended the stairs, and his face lit up like it was all his birthdays at once. “Oooohhhh,” he called. “Could it be? Is this a walk of shame?!” He was practically bouncing.

Before Konoha could respond, Hinata cuffed Casanova around the back of the head. “Excuse you! I am a _catch_. If anything, it would be a fucking walk of _pride_.”

“Well you’re right about the fuc—” He took an elbow to the ribs with a grunt.

Hinata glared at him. “Trash. Now.”

He left in a sulk, but Konoha heard him brighten up in the kitchen talking to… which one was that? Ah, Shorty 1.0. Konoha sighed, all but positive their conversation was about him.

Hinata smiled at him. “How you feeling, Lavender?”

“Much better for your intervention, Remix.”

“Ha! I knew it! I knew you said it on purpose! Explain yourself, sir.”

Konoha chuckled. “Feed me, caffeinate me, and we’ll see.”

Hinata rolled his eyes. “So demanding!” When Konoha reached for his wallet, Hinata shook his head. “Nah, on the house. Just for today, mind,” he added with a finger wag. “Consider it an apology for incorrectly estimating your alcohol tolerance.”

“I think you apologized enough,” Konoha said ruefully. “Never has someone I passed out in front of taken such good care of me.”

Hinata looked torn. “I’m not sure if I should feel happy or sad about that.” Konoha wasn’t sure how to answer that, but Hinata carried on. “I’m so relieved you carry your… that you carry that silver box with you.”

“Two nights, two mornings. Always with me. Just in case.” Konoha shrugged. “I like to be prepared for a variety of eventualities.”

Hinata smirked. “I noticed.”

“Wha—” Konoha abruptly remembered what else was in that pocket of his bag. He was immensely proud of himself for not turning into a flustered mess. He smiled sunnily. “A _wide_ variety of eventualities.”

“And the Lavender Wink is back in business!” Shorty 1.0 cried from inside the kitchen, and Konoha and Hinata both cracked up.

It wasn’t long after Konoha got set up at his table that Hinata brought over a tray. His usuals, plus an enormous glass of water. “I heard somewhere you liked it.” To Konoha’s surprise, Hinata didn’t return to the counter, he just took a seat at Konoha’s table. “So,” he said as he set the tray against the wall. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Konoha raised an eyebrow. “Is it illegal?”

“Rude!”

Konoha laughed. “Sorry. Go on.”

“Well,” Hinata continued. “For a long time I’ve been interested in art, in a purely theoretical way. I don’t do it, I don’t know anything about it, everything. And it seems like the perfect opportunity to learn has been sitting in my café approximately three times a week for over a year.”

Konoha just stared at him for a moment. “I… uh. How… I mean, what exactly do you want to learn?”

Hinata airily waved a hand. “Just, you know, the basics. ‘Art.’”

“Oh… kay…” Konoha said slowly. “I’m not sure where I’d start with something like that, but I could maybe work up some potential syllabi for you and then…”

“Oh gosh, no, I don’t need anything that fancy. You said you paint, right?” Konoha nodded wordlessly. “Perfect. I’ll start there.” He pulled out his phone. “So, what do I need?”

“To paint, you mean. You want… you want me to teach you to paint?” Konoha wanted to slap himself. He had it in him to be smooth, why was he always turning into this stammering mess?

Hinata either didn’t notice his turn for the awkward, or paid it no mind. “Yeah, I do. Oh and don’t worry, I’ll pay you. By the hour or by the lesson?” He didn’t wait for Konoha’s input. “The hour, I suppose. What’s reasonable for that sort of thing?”

“Um… maybe…”

Hinata didn’t let him finish. “Let’s say… ¥1500 an hour?” Konoha’s jaw was probably on the floor, and Hinata apparently misread his expression, because he amended, “Oh, gosh, how about ¥2000?”

Konoha knew he had to say something. Unfortunately it turned out to be, “It’s because you were Shorty 2.0!”

It should have seemed crazy, but Hinata just ran with it. “Oh my god, right! So I’m taking it Nishinoya is Shorty 1.0?” Konoha nodded and Hinata pouted. “But I’m the boss! Shouldn’t I be 1.0?”

“Three points,” Konoha could actually _feel_ himself recovering his calm. “One. At the time you all earned your nicknames, I hadn’t figured that out yet. Two. Versions are named chronologically. He’s older than you, and therefore given the prior number. And three. When 2.0 of anything is released, it’s new and improved. It’s not just a tweak to the original system, it’s an overhaul.” He smirk . “Harder, better, faster, stronger.”

“And he likes Daft Punk,” Hinata said with a grin. “Okay, okay, you’ve won me over. 2.0 it is. Even if ‘Shorty’ is just rude.” He looked over his shoulder at the counter, the turned back and leaned in. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Tell me the rest.”

Konoha shrugged. “Honestly, yours is the only interesting one.”

“Don’t care, tell me them right now.”

“If you insist,” Konoha said. “Okay, where do I start?” He glanced over at the counter, then gasped. “Actually, this is wonderful. You can answer my question!”

“And what question might that be?”

“Shy Giant and Shorty 1.0: dating or not dating? I swear, I change my mind every time I’m in here.”

Hinata was laughing, trying and mostly failing to keep it quiet. “Oh my god. That is so beautiful. And I will tell you why: they weren’t, for a long time, but now, I swear to you that _they_ don’t know!” Hinata took a deep breath, trying to get under control before his employees got too curious for their own good. “No, I’m not kidding. I’ve heard it from both of them. When Asa—Shy Giant, his name is Asahi—tries to bring it up to Nishinoya, Nishinoya gets skittish and weird, and when Nishinoya brings it up to Asahi, Asahi jumps him.”

Konoha blinked rapidly a few times. “I… huh. That is the exact opposite of what I would have thought.”

“I know!” Hinata cried, then continued much quieter, “We’ve got a pool going on how long it stays like this. Wanna get in on that?”

“Ah, thanks but no,” Konoha said, shaking his head. “Unreal. Have you guys considered, you know, telling them?”

“If they’re not officially together by Christmas, we’re intervening, and giving them the pool money.”

“Yeah okay. That seems alright.” He mentally ran through his list of employees. “Okay, because he’s here right now, Wannabe Casanova.”

Hinata let out a single, short, _loud_ bark of laughter then slapped a hand over his mouth. After a moment or two he leaned close to Konoha to whisper, “Oh my god, _how_ does he not realize Peppermint Mocha is a lesbian?!”

“Right?!” Konoha whisper-yelled back at him. “Like, does he not have _eyes_?!”

Hinata was still shaking with silent laughter. “Just gals being pals.” He wiped his eyes. “Oh, Tanaka. Okay, okay, tell me the rest.”

“Hmm… oh, well, Shouty, of course.”

Hinata snorted. “Yeah, that’s about right. Kageyama, by the way,” he said, then frowned. “Hey, wait a minute! Shouty could be me, too!”

Konoha shook his head. “It most certainly could not. Because you don’t shout.” Hinata was clearly about to interrupt and Konoha held up a finger to stop him. “No, I’m serious. You don’t shout. You _yell_.” He leaned back with a smile. “Big difference.”

Hinata seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah alright. Is there anyone else you actually have a name for? Ennoshita, Narita, and Kinoshita don’t really spend enough time out here…”

“Yeah. ‘The Triplets.’ That’s all I’ve got. Though maybe you should consider switching things up now and then? They seem… uh… calmer, than some of… yeah. Oh, okay, what’s the deal with Asshole and Freckles? They don’t—”

He was cut off by Hinata slamming a fist on the table. “ _Oh_ my god. Oh I have to tell him. Tsukki is going to _love_ that.” Then he registered the question. “Oh! Yeah, no, they don’t work here. Or well, no, the opposite of that. They _do_ work here, legally, they’re just almost never given hours. They really just come in as a favor when we’re in a pinch.”

“That’s how it seemed. So what _do_ they do?”

Hinata grinned. “Yams is Tsukki’s sugar daddy.”

Konoha’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Excuse me?”

“Haha, sorry, it’s not like that sounds, even if it is kind of true.” He  chuckled. “They were already together when it happened, and at university. Yamaguchi was talking about something in engineering, and took a computer sciences class.” Hinata shrugged. “A few months later he wrote an app game that Blew the Fuck Up.” Konoha could hear the capitalization. “He is _loaded_. Like, for _life_ loaded.” He rolled his eyes. Well. Maybe. They’re frugal about almost everything, but Yams keeps buying out natural history museums for Tsukki. It’s just like, ‘He already loves you, you idiot! Stop!’”

“Eh,” Konoha said with a shrug. “I’ve seen people do worse.”

Hinata paused, but didn’t ask. “So, have we missed anyone?”

“Yeah actually,” Konoha said as Hinata said, “Oh, of course,” and they both finished, “Mom and Dad.” They looked at each other, eyes huge, then burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” Hinata hiccupped as he wiped his eyes. “That is… oh, that is just _too_ good.”

“Honestly, I almost don’t want to ask,” Konoha said through his chuckles. “It’s so beautiful like this.” He sighed. “But no, what’s their deal?”

“Ahhh…” Hinata trailed off and frowned. “Maybe we should just stick a pin in that.”

Konoha frowned slightly. “Is there something… wrong?” All humor was draining from his face to be replaced with concern.

“Argh, no, it’s fine, honestly. Just sort of, well, what they do isn’t exactly…” He let out an exasperated sigh, then very deliberately met Konoha’s eyes and slowly said, “They have tattoos.”

Konoha’s eyes turned into saucers. “ _What?_ ” he hissed, looking around. “No. No way! _That’s_ how you funded your café?!”

Hinata shrugged. “They’re good guys, really. Known ‘em for ages.”

Konoha rubbed his temples. He couldn’t…He looked back up at Hinata. “So yeah, painting supplies. I’ve got canvas and frames, but I’m running low on gesso, and as I said before, my supply of oils… oh, sorry, you didn’t actually say what medium you wanted. What were you thinking?”

Konoha could have sworn that for a second there, Hinata just looked… fond. But he had his phone back out in short order. “You said you liked oils, so yeah, let’s start there. So paints, you need like, the rainbow, and white and black, is there anything…” Konoha’s shoulders were shaking. “What?”

Konoha took a long drink of water. “Okay, no. All of that was wrong. Well…” he pursed his lips. “Okay, some of it was only sort of wrong.”

Hinata crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Okay, expert. What do I need?”

Konoha’s face softened. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to say that like an asshole.”

Hinata huffed a laugh. “Eh. It’s fine.” He grabbed his phone again. “For real though, what do I need?”

“Well, okay, just for starters, we’ll get you cool palette and a warm palette, a white—titanium is fine—and a dark… hmm… let’s start you with Prussian blue. And a how about an earth, too. I favor burnt sienna, but my—” he stopped suddenly, sharply, and he knew his face was a disaster. God, not right now. He closed his eyes. Stayed like that for a while. Then he opened them again. “There are others who prefer mars red, which does have a…” he looked off to his left and for a split-second his mouth almost twitched into a smile, “…a cooler name.” He forcibly relaxed his shoulders. “Okay, for warm, I’d say yellow ochre, cadmium red, and either phthalo blue or cerulean blue… you’re new, so cerulean. Cool, let’s say…” he trailed off when he realized Hinata had stopped typing, and was just staring at him. Konoha frowned, concerned. “You okay?”

“I…” Hinata looked down at his phone, then back up at Konoha. “How do you spell phthalo?” He cocked his head to one side. “And what the hell is gesso?”

Konoha started laughing. “Sorry, sorry, just realized how ridiculous what I tried to do there was.” He grabbed his own phone and pulled up his Line QR. “Here. I’ll send you a list.”

Once contact info was exchanged, Hinata got to his feet. “Better get back to work.” He waved a hand over the table. “More of anything?”

Konoha gave him a sheepish smile. “More of everything?”

Hinata laughed. “One day only,” he cautioned him again, but took the dishes.

It was Tanaka who brought them back. He grinned at Konoha. “Casanova? Niiiiiice, I see you’ve witnessed my wizardry with the ladies.”

Konoha mentally thanked Hinata. “Dude,” Konoha said with his bro-iest grin. “You are something else.”

“Thanks, man!” And with a fistbump—Konoha was pretty sure he did it right, he saw it in the robot movie—Tanaka was off.

When Konoha next caught Hinata’s eye, he mouthed a quick thanks and Hinata gave him a mock salute. After that though, Konoha didn’t interact with anyone else at the café. Laptop on, earbuds in, he should have been working on his book. Like he _always_ should be working on his book. He started scrolling through lesson plans for teaching oil painting. He still hadn’t really gotten anywhere when his alarm went off. He knew he should have just gone straight home this morning, but it was just… things were just better at Hinata’s café. Maybe things were just plain better with… He re-packed his bag and headed out.

He made it to work on time, more comfortable clean and in fresh clothes, though it didn’t make his shift any less mind-numbing. It was long since dark when the shop closed. A couple of his coworkers asked if he wanted to go to the little izakaya down the street, but Konoha begged off. He didn’t need to drink again any time soon. He ate on the way home at the ramen stand a few blocks from his apartment.

He lived in a nice building. Nicer than he’d be able to afford soon if things went on as they were. He’d ridden the fellowship train for a couple years, but even if he could find and be awarded a new one, he wasn’t sure he’d take it. He was living in a holding pattern, and it was starting to make him sick. It’s just… hard to break out of that sort of thing.

He didn’t bother switching on the light when he got home. The apartment was meant to be a spacious one-bedroom with a walk-in closet, but in its current incarnation was actually a spacious one-studio with a walk-in art supply room. He still kept his dresser and bed in his studio, just in case anyone came by who would wonder what they was doing in the main room. It meant both pieces of furniture and every set of sheets he owned were ‘ruined’ by regular standards, but he kind of liked them this way. Evidence of their history. It was… soothing. Objects should have marks that show where they’ve been.

He set his bag down by the sofa, but didn’t even unpack it, just started undressing. His work clothing was kept in the media cabinet, far away from anything that might stain it. He glanced at the bathroom, but he was exhausted; his cursory wash that morning would have to do for now. All he did was brush his teeth and splash some water on his face. He navigated through the maze of tables and easels to get to his bed and flopped down into it. He plugged his phone in and turned off his alarm. Blessedly, he didn’t have work the next day. Which usually meant he’d go to the café, but…

He was asleep before he finished the thought.

The next morning, he woke up to a strange sound. It wasn’t his alarm, wrong tone, and too irregular, but his phone was definitely doing _something_ strange. He grabbed it off the floor and peered at it. What the… _What do you think?_ was on the screen, with a little subscript _31_. Who they hell had sent him thirty-o—the phone trilled again—thirty- _two_ … he finally registered the name Hinata Shouyou. “Remix,” he groaned. All he wanted was to go back to sleep, but instead he swiped into his phone and started reading. Hinata was live-texting his adventures at the art supply store. The messages were about half commentary, a third questions, and a sixth pictures. He started writing back, but only got through a couple questions before deciding to just call.

Foregoing a hello, Hinata picked up with, “You _are_ alive!”

“Very funny,” Konoha responded, voice a little sleep-rough. “What did you need?”

“Oh, I actually figured it out! Or well, I found a very kind employee who figured it out,” Hinata giggled at something Konoha couldn’t hear and said, “No, _you_ are,” then laughed again. “Sorry, Konoha, just distracted. But I’ve got everything! When do you want to start?”

Something slightly sick and slightly hot was swirling around in Konoha’s head. “What are you doing today?”

“Uh…” There was some rustling in the background. “Learning to paint, I guess. What time?”

“I’m not up to anything today, so whenever.”

“Oh, okay. Cool. Um… I’ve got some errands, but then I’ll head your way. Text me your address, and I’ll give you an ETA.”

“Sounds good,” Konoha said. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yep! See you!”

The call ended and Konoha looked around the room. This space was _not_ ready for another person. Why the _fuck_ had he said today?! He sent off his address, and got back, _3ish hours!_ Okay, that should be enough time to get the bare minimum in order. A bit over an hour and a half in, he’d bathed, cooked, and cleaned, and was starting to rearrange the studio so it could accommodate a second artist—not an easy feat. It was big as bedrooms go, but tiny as art studios do. At least he’d lucked into the corner unit. Without those windows, it would all be impossible. He was just hoping that the paint and turpentine smell wouldn’t be identified when he eventually moved out.

He had just cleared off enough table space that Hinata would have somewhere to keep his things, and was about to start tackling the easels and canvases when his phone chirped at him. He checked it, to see a message from Hinata.

_Hey, errands didn’t take as long as I thought and I’m near your building. Are you still free?_

Konoha looked around the studio, panicked. Over an hour early?! Another message came in.

_No worries if not! I can find somewhere to chill._

Konoha groaned. He couldn’t do that. He’d told Hinata he was free all day. It would be too rude to make him wait. He wrote back telling him to come on over.

He looked around again. Fuck. Should he cover everything? No, that would look weird and secretive. In a last-ditch effort, he turned the easel at the foot of his bed toward the windows, then went to stand by the speaker panel next to the door. No sooner had he done so than it rang out and Hinata’s voice came through. “That you, Konoha?”

“Yeah,” he said with as much cheer as he could, “Come on up!” He buzzed Hinata in, and less than a minute later there was a knock on the door.

“Hi!” Hinata said with a bright smile and two large reusable shopping bags. “Sorry for turning up so early, I’m glad you were free!”

Konoha pulled the door wide and stood back. “No problem! I was basically ready anyway.”

Hinata set the bags down and gave him an appraising glance, then smirked. “Liar.”

Konoha looked down for a moment, then smiled sheepishly. “Maybe not… _quite_ ready.”

Hinata chuckled. “If you want me to come back, or just hang…” he looked around the spotless apartment, then counted the doors. “Wait, where do you paint?”

Konoha nodded toward his door. “In there.”

Hinata frowned. “And where do you sleep?”

“Ahhh…” he glanced at the door. “In there, if the fumes aren’t bad. Out here if they are.” He smiled wryly. “I’m willing to make certain sacrifices for my art. But liver damage, kidney damage, central nervous system dysfunction, cancer, etc. do not make that list. It’s uh, it’s the whole reason I have a sofa.”

Hinata seemed concerned, but just asked, “So would you rather have a while longer to set up?”

Konoha wavered. “Yes, but it would be too weird, knowing you were out here waiting for me to finish. So come on.”

He walked slowly, but the room was _right there_. He pushed the door open, careful of the drop cloth, then stood back so Hinata could enter first. “Whoa,” Hinata said instantly, then turned back to look at Konoha. “Your bed is _trashed_ , man.”

Konoha snorted involuntarily. “You notices that firs… art is _really_ not your thing.”

Hinata pouted. “Mean! I’m here to fix that!”

“Fair point,” Konoha said with a chuckle as he entered the room. The interchange had distracted him momentarily, but when Hinata turned to look at his canvases…. Oh god it felt even worse than he’d feared. It took more effort than it should have to keep himself from straight up leaving the room.

But when Hinata looked at him again, he was beaming. “They’re wonderful! So bright!” Hinata moved through the space, looking at each one more closely. “Somehow I expected dark colors, not all this orange and yellow! They’re… uh… whatsit. Vibrant!” He looked back at Konoha. “That’s the word I’m looking for, right?”

Konoha shrugged a little stiffly. “Probably.” Hinata liked the paintings, but that didn’t lessen the emotional upheaval of someone seeing at them. They weren’t… they weren’t ready yet. And they were still too…

Hinata spun around. “It’s like sunshine. A whole room full of it.”

Konoha felt the prickling in his eyes and nose that meant he might start crying, and prayed that Hinata would stay distracted. Nope, it got worse. Hinata walked over to the canvas by the window. “Can I?” he asked. Konoha just nodded miserably. He turned the easel around to reveal an in-progress portrait, one of the few paintings with red in it. Hinata just studied it for a moment, then asked the dreaded question, “Who is it?”

“Just someone I used to know,” Konoha said, all too aware his voice had become thick.

Hinata of course picked up on it, and immediately looked apologetic. “Shit, sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s a perfectly reasonable question,” Konoha said, now too quiet.

“And one that you don’t have to answer,” Hinata said. “Not now, not ever.”

Konoha just nodded, not quite looking at him.

Hinata clapped his hands together. “Okay! I am here to paint, so let’s get started! I’ll just go grab my things.” He headed back into the main room and Konoha took the opportunity to wipe his eyes on his sleeve, and turn the portrait back toward the window.

Konoha was surprised to see Hinata carry _both_ bags into the studio. “Uh… surely that’s not all art supplies, is it?”

Hinata hefted the bags onto the table space Konoha had cleared. “Oh, no,” he said, then patted a bag. “This one’s got some office supplies, too.”

Konoha just goggled at him. “What did you do? Buy out the store?”

Hinata laughed. “Nah, that would have taken wayyy bigger shopping bags. There was just a lot of stuff that seemed cool. But let’s start with the paint.” He started pulling out paint tubes, and as he kept going and going, Konoha’s heart started speeding up, and he eventually made a strangled noise. Hinata looked over at him, perfectly at ease. “What’s up?”

“Um, the paint you… I gave you a pretty short list… and the size, uh…”

Hinata frowned for all of a second. “Oh! Yeah, I know you said to buy small ones until I knew for sure I liked it, but in terms of quantity for a given price, it was _so_ much more cost effective to buy the bigger ones! And the clerk was talking to me about different potential palettes, and I thought I might end up wanting to work with some of them. Plus with this many this size, you can use them, too!”

Konoha bit his lip. “Hinata, I can’t do that, those were expensive, and—”

“Right! Money!” Hinata rummaged through one of the bags. “I figured cash would be best, I…” Hinata trailed off when he saw Konoha’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I… you… you shouldn’t just…” He exhaled sharply. “I feel like I’ve… I mean, I know you own a café, but that doesn’t mean you can afford to—”

Hinata waved a hand to stop him. “Oh my gosh, no. No, I promise I can afford all of this. I don’t own a café. I own four.” He paused. “Well, three and a half.”

Konoha just goggled at him, the tension draining out of his body. “Wh… wh…” He shook his head, as if to clear it. “ _How_ old are you again?”

Hinata laughed. “It was one of those things that just fell into place, piece by piece.”

Konoha opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Are you fucking with me?” Hinata leered and Konoha rolled his eyes. “Come on, honestly. I’m all but positive I’d know if there was another Café Karasuno.”

“Sure,” Hinata said agreeably. “But the others aren’t called Café Karasuno.”

Konoha sighed, but could stop himself smiling. This was a _much_ safer conversation. “Okay, okay, I’ll bite. Enlighten me.”

Hinata tapped a finger against his lips. “In a minute. Let’s go sit down. I’ll make tea, you can sort out where to start teaching me. It’s only fair after I was rude enough to show up so early.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to—”

“Just hush,” Hinata said and started herding Konoha back into the main room. “Now you go sit, I’ll do this. Don’t worry, I can find everything. I’ve got a good instinct for kitchens.”

“And everything else,” Konoha muttered under his breath, though from the way Hinata’s shoulders shook he hadn’t been quiet enough. He took a seat at one end of the sofa and looked around for a distraction. And much to his surprise, found one. On the shelf under the coffee table, unused for god knows how long, were his old textbooks—including a few from before he’d switched to art history. He carefully slid two of them out from their stacks, then put one on the table and started thumbing through the other. “Hey Hinata?” he said, turning toward the kitchen. “Have you got any drawing materials in those monster bags of yours?”

“I do, actually. I’ve got lots of stuff.” Dishes clinked. “I was going to get a palette, like the wooden ones, I mean, but the clerk told me—”

“To get a palette paper, yeah,” Konoha interrupted absentmindedly. “If I’d known you were going to buy everything under the sun I would have told you.” He suddenly looked up. “Tell me you didn’t buy a million brushes.”

“Of course not!”

Konoha shot him a dubious look. “Did I set the threshold too high?”

Hinata chuckled. “Technically yes, but no, I only bought four. One bright, one flat—”

“One filbert, and one round,” Konoha finished. “You really did find a helpful sales clerk. I would have told you not to buy a fan, too.” He kept flipping through the book, becoming engrossed enough that he didn’t look up until he heard cups being placed on the coffee table. “Oh, thank you, Hinata.” He picked up the nearest cup and took a sip. “Oh that’s perfect,” he said with a happy sigh. “I get so distracted, I let it steep too long and it goes bitter.”

Hinata clucked his tongue. “Fragrance like this and you get distracted? Tsk. I should get you a timer.” Hinata tapped the pad and pencils he’d placed next to the teapot. “So, will this work for the drawing you had in mind?”

Konoha gave them a cursory inspection and nodded. “Yeah, these are perfect.” He looked askance at Hinata. “What did you do to that sales clerk, anyway?”

“Hey! I am _very_ charming, I’ll have you know!”

Yeah, he knew. “I’m sure you are,” he said drily, then turned to face Hinata properly. “So, you have some café ownership to explain.”

Hinata laughed. “So I do. Okay, where to start?” He tapped a finger against the rim of his cup a few times, then nodded decisively. “Well first, I’ve got Café Nekoma over by the train station.”

“Nekoma? Oh my god, please tell me it isn’t a cat café.”

Hinata grinned. “Only if you count the employees. By turns enigmatic, lazy, quiet, friendly, and more often than not, completely nuts. So, you know, cats.”

“Sounds about right,” Konoha said with a laugh. “What’s it like?”

Hinata considered this for a moment. “It’s pretty similar to Karasuno. A little flashier, a little more, ‘city.’ And they actually do better financially, as they’re in the better location.” He shrugged. “But Karasuno was still my first one, so it’s where I like to spend my time.”

“Why do you do that, anyway?” Konoha asked.

“Do what?”

“You know. Work at the café like you do. Surely you don’t have to, not with four businesses under your ownership.”

“Oh!” He looked down at the array of paint on the table. “Somebody once told me that whatever you do, wherever you go, you shouldn’t forget where you started.”

“Good advice.”

Hinata nodded, and stayed silent for few moments, staring into his tea. Then he straightened, and looked almost sheepish. “So… uh, no cat café, but I _do_ actually own an owl café. No wait don’t judge!” he said quickly. “Let me explain. The guy who brings the owls is an ornithologist. He works at a bird sanctuary, and sometimes they end up with hatchlings born in captivity who can’t be released into the wild. If they’re physically and mentally healthy, he brings them to the café! They’ve already imprinted on humans, so they’re totally fine! Plus, it takes some pressure off the sanctuary. So, you know, it’s a good thing for everyone,” he finished, almost tentatively.

“Huh.” Konoha said. “That does actually sound pretty cool.”

Hinata beamed. “If you ever want to go, just tell me. Ornithologist’s boyfriend manages it for me, and I can tell him to look out for you, let you in free.”

“Yeah, that’d be fun.” He nudged Hinata. “Maybe you should just take me there sometime.”

Hinata chuckled. “Might be for the best anyway. He can get… enthusiastic.”

“Something you know nothing about, of course,” Konoha said in his most scholarly tone.

“Psht! Rude!”

Konoha shook his head. “So alright, that makes three. What’s the last one? It’s the ‘half,’ I assume?”

“Haha, yep. I co-own a café and host club with a guy named Irihata Nobuteru. We share the space, and some of the clientele. Starts as a café in the morning and morphs over the course of the day. Transitions completely to a host club by about ten or eleven, midnight at the very outside.” He grinned. “Licensing is so easy when you’ve got… good friends.”

“Oh my god,” Konoha groaned. “I am rapidly becoming convinced that you are a figment of my imagination. By all rights you should only exist in the movies.”

“Hmm,” Hinata hummed. “What I’m getting from this is that you think I’m handsome enough to be a movie star.”

Konoha snorted. “Yeah let’s run with that.” He reached out and grabbed the textbook he’d put aside. He flipped back through until he found the page he was looking for. “Okay, here,” he said, passing the book to Hinata. “We’re going to start with dimensions and perspective. You read this passage while I hunt down a couple straightedges and some paper for myself.”

Hinata nodded, and Konoha headed back into his studio. Once he was completely sure he was out of sight, he ran his hands through his hair, and shook himself, trying to dispel the tension still lurking just under the surface. He looked at his paintings, and they didn’t look like paintings. They looked like ghosts. He pressed his hands over his eyes. This is just an emotion, and an emotion is just an electrochemical event. In a moment, that event will be over. Let it pass. He grit his teeth and found what he needed as quickly as he could.

He must have still seemed shaken when he returned, because Hinata ran a hand down his arm and poured him more tea. Or maybe that’s just what Hinata is like.

“Okay,” he said. “Lesson one.”

~

Once Konoha got used to it, it was actually kind of… nice, to have someone besides himself spend time in his home. He couldn’t have handled more than once a week to start, but the more he became acclimatized to it, he found himself wishing Hinata would come around more.

He’d even gotten used to having another human being around his paintings, which in turn had lessened the dreadful sway they so often held over him. Hinata hadn’t asked about any of them again, and Konoha hadn’t volunteered. But as the weeks, then months, went by, he occasionally found himself wanting to.

“I know it’s there! I saw it in the shop! I don’t care if you think it’s cheating; I’m buying some and bringing it next time and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!”

Konoha was trying desperately not to burst out laughing. “It’s not… it’s not ‘cheating,’ it’s just… _wrong_. It doesn’t exist.”

“Did I not _just_ tell you that I saw it in the store?”

Konoha pursed his lips, one corner of his mouth still twitching. “Hinata, there is no such thing as black!”

“What about cats, huh? I’ve seen some black cats. What about… what about the vacuum of space?!”

Konoha opened his mouth, paused, then said, “Okay I don’t know enough about space to know that one for sure, but no, black cats are not black. They can be red, brown, blue, whatever, but they’re not black.”

Hinata crossed his arms over his chest and grumped, “They look pretty black to me.”

Konoha just leveled a scholarly glare at him.

After a few seconds Hinata sighed and picked his palette back up. “Give me a hint?” He actually _batted his eyelashes_ , and Konoha had to hide a laugh in a cough. “I’ll let you drink free tomorrow,” Hinata coaxed.

“Pastries too?”

Hinata laughed. “You drive a hard bargain, Dr. Konoha. But yes. Pastries, too.”

“Okay.” Konoha walked over to stand right next to Hinata. “We did this one back when you first started. If you’ve got the Burnt Sienna and you’re trying to make black, what do you need to add?”

“Hint!” Hinata demanded.

Konoha bit his cheek. “You need a red and a blue. Which ones?”

Hinata squeezed his eyes shut and scrunched his whole face up. “Red and blue, red and blue…” His eyes popped back open. “Hey! The lizard one and the not-Russia one!”

Konoha tried to come up with an appropriate response. He really did. “I do _not_ understand how the world looks from inside your head.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I?” Hinata asked, bouncing slightly.

“If by that you meant alizarin crimson and Prussian blue, then yes, you are.”

“Hmm…” Hinata sighed innocently. “You know, it’s pretty amazing you figured that out based on what I said.” He grinned. “You _sure_ you don’t know what the world’s like in my head?”

Konoha buried his face in his hands and groaned, three-quarters for show. “Oh god you’re in my head.”

“Ha! I win.”

“Okay, winner. Show me some black.”

Though the lessons did have a fixed frequency, they had no set length, running until one or both of them was ‘done.’

And today it didn’t take Hinata much longer to declare himself done.

“Scrape that together so it’ll still be wet next week,” Konoha said, tapping Hinata’s palette. “You did put all that work into mixing it.” Then Konoha walked back over to his current easel. He’d taken to working on his own paintings while Hinata worked on his. It was nice to have the impetus to focus on his art. On his own, he’d go weeks without painting, just another part of his life in stasis as he plugged away at the book. Right now he was working on the painting he jokingly called _The Young Guitarist_ in his own head—he’d really have to come up with less obvious names if he ever did decide to show them—but for now… oh, Hinata was speaking. “Sorry, what was that?” Konoha asked.

“Do you ever want to show your work?” Hinata asked, eerily echoing Konoha’s thoughts.

“Well, I mean, maybe someday,” Konoha said slowly. “But I’m not ready, and even if I was, I don’t know how I’d find a gallery willing to take a chance on me.”

Hinata nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I was just thinking about. Dad’s oyabun has a son who’s married to an art guy. Poetry himself, but he’s got a lot of connections in the art world. I know you’re not the biggest fan of, uh… all that, but man, let me tell you, they get shit done.” Konoha’s warring emotions must have shown on his face, because Hinata just shrugged and said, “Something to think about. When you’re ready.”

“Uh, yeah,” Konoha said. “I’ll… yeah. Think about, um, that.” His back twinged and he tried to stretch it out, only succeeding in doing something painful to his neck—painful enough for him to make a sound of distress.

Hinata immediately whirled to face him, concern writ large on his face. “Whoa, are you okay?”

Konoha tried to smile, but when he attempted a nod his neck disapproved and the smile turned into a grimace. “Fine,” he forced out through his teeth. Hinata just gave him an unimpressed stare. “My spine is just having some issues lately. I’m sure it’ll sort itself out. Don’t worry about it.”

“Uh-huh,” Hinata said flatly. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that because I’m here painting once a week you’re sleeping on the sofa _every night_.”

“Ahhh…”

“Yeah.” Hinata went over to the bed and gave it an appraising stare. He walked down the length, then stood at the end. “Hmm.” Much to Konoha’s surprise, he then flopped down on top of it, shifting until he was roughly centered.  “Hmmmmmm,” he said again, longer now. He rolled back and forth a little, then popped up into a seated position. “Okay, no, this bed is terrible anyway. It’s amazing you can stand up straight at all. We’re getting rid of it.”

“We?”

Hinata was not even slightly deterred from his mission. “Its time has come to make the long walk to the mattress graveyard. Where did you even _get_ this monstrosity?”

Konoha looked away. Not from a dumpster, that’s for sure. He hadn’t been at _any_ sort of low point. “Does it matter?”

“Good point! Alright, let’s go investigate the sofa!” Hinata bounded out of the room and Konoha reluctantly followed, still rubbing his neck.

Hinata first sat on the sofa in a few places--“You’ve sat there befo—” “Shh! Concentrating!”—then stretched out, shifting through a few positions.

“Okay, sofa is a fine sofa, not an acceptable bed.”

“Thanks for the input. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Hinata’s high energy dampened a little. “Shit. I’m sorry Konoha, I sound like an asshole. I… fuck.” Hinata dragged his fingers through his hair—not an easy feat. “I want to take you to bed.” Konoha didn’t even have time to panic before Hinata corrected, “Store! _A_ bed. A bed _store_. Mattress! Mattress store. Yeah. Cool.”

Konoha could have responded a lot of ways, and considered quite a few of them. He smiled. “Hinata Shouyou, you are a force to be reckoned with.”

Hinata grinned unrepentantly. “So I’ve been told.”

Konoha wanted a twin, Hinata wanted to get him a queen, so they compromised on a double. Hinata requested it be delivered in about an hour, so they’d have time to buy bedding. They’d only been back at the apartment ten minutes or so when the movers arrived, and after witnessing all they went through to get both the box spring and mattress inside, Konoha was very glad he hadn’t insisted they do it themselves. The movers were briefly surprised when Hinata instructed them to leave the bed in the corner of the main room, but they covered it fairly well, only occasionally shooting glances at the closed bedroom door. Once Konoha had shut the door behind them, he turned to Hinata and said, “You don’t think they smelled the paint, do you?”

Hinata nearly choked on his own laugh. “Uh, no. No I do not.”

Konoha frowned. “Then why were they looking at the door?”

Hinata just stared at him for a moment, then smiled, honestly fond, and said, “You’re adorable.”

“I am no such thing! And…. ohhhh, they think I’m cooking meth or something, don’t they?”

Hinata shrugged. “That or filming weird porn.”

Konoha dragged a hand over his face. “Oh dear god.”

“Dude, I’d watch weird porn if you were in it.”

“I’m sure that was meant to be a compliment,” Konoha sighed.

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” Hinata said, as if it was obvious. “What, you wouldn’t watch weird porn that I was in?”

Oh dear god, he repeated in his own head. “Of course I would,” he said aloud. “What are friends for?”

“Buying you beds, obviously. Keep up.” Hinata launched himself onto the mattress and tried a few positions. “Yes, this was definitely a good choice. Now we need to figure out… _the disguise_.”

What? “Um, what?”

“The whole reason you keep your bed in there is so that no one knows it’s out here. But this one has to be out here, so you can actually sleep on it, so we have to give it a disguise.”

Konoha was starting to feel dizzy. “Is it just me, or are you going even faster than usual today?”

“What? I—” the energy in Hinata’s frame didn’t dissipate, but the color drained from his face. “Oh. Yeah. I am, huh? I forgot my, uh. God, this is embarrassing.”

Konoha put a few months’ worth of puzzle pieces together. “You have ADHD.”

Hinata’s gaze snapped up to meet his. “And you? An anticonvulsant, an antipsychotic, and lithium carbonate. Sounds like Bipolar I to me.”

Konoha’s gut reaction was anger, but he didn’t act on it. Let it pass. Anger would not be an effective response to this situation. After a few seconds he just huffed a laugh. “Well now, isn’t someone nosy?”

Hinata gave him a small, abashed smile. “Sorry, that was mean. And yeah, guilty as charged.”

“I keep the bottles hidden, though. How did you even…” he stopped. “Right. That first night. The night you assaulted me with alcohol. You looked at the id markers on the tablets.” He sighed. “Well I can’t fault you on resourcefulness.”

“‘Assaulted,’” Hinata grumbled. “Rude.” Konoha pointedly raised an eyebrow. “Ah, right. Maybe not a _lot_ of ground to stand on at the moment.”

“Not so much, no.” Hinata looked at him for a moment, clearly considering something. “Just ask,” Konoha said. He’d heard it all before.

“What did you do just there? You were mad, and then you weren’t.”

Okay, maybe he hadn’t. “You really are too observant for your own good, you know.”

Hinata smiled. “Took a lot of practice. Might as well put it to good use.” He paused. “Er, maybe just ‘use.’ But seriously, what was that? Usually people get angry and force it down. You actually stopped being angry.”

Konoha looked away. “Learned it in therapy. After I got out of hospital the second time, I got into this sort of training-based therapy course. Did it for a year.” He turned back to Hinata. “Did you know an emotion lasts twelve seconds?”

“That… what?”

“No, it’s true. When you experience an emotion, it only physically lasts about twelve seconds. Well, it _can_ last up to about sixty, but yeah, usually twelve. And you can’t stop those twelve seconds from playing out. But after that, _physically_ speaking, if you’re still feeling the emotion, it’s actually a new emotion, just the same type as before. A brand new physical reaction.” He shrugged. “So you either leave the stimulus prompting the negative emotion—a person, a place, a thought, whatever—or just don’t react again.”

Hinata looked skeptical. “That… doesn’t sound real. You can’t choose to not react to something. And you can’t just ‘leave’ a thought.”

Konoha shook his head. “Not all the time, no. And not without leaning certain skills, then getting in a fuckton of practice. And in some cases, also being on the right medication regimen. But you’d be surprised.” He shrugged. “Like you said, Bipolar I. I know what it is to be swallowed up. To be unable to stop or start or change. And no, I can’t just magically turn that off every time it starts up. But even if I can only do it one time out of ten, I’ve lessened my suffering by ten percent. And I’m pretty good at using it on the day to day stuff these days. As you just witnessed, I suppose.”

“Huh.” Hinata stayed quiet for several seconds, then said, “I’ll think about that.” Then he grinned. “Dr. Konoha! You said you’d watch weird porn of me!” He hopped off the bed, then bounced over and flung his arms around Konoha’s waist. “Best art instructor _ever_.”

Konoha returned the hug, _maybe_ not awkwardly. “I try.”

Hinata snorted a laugh, then pulled back. “For real though, man. We’ve got to disguise this bed.”

In the end, despite having to once again leave the house and come back, disguise was too grand a word.

Hinata stood there staring at the folding screen, arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips. “This is just not as exciting as I’d hoped,” he said plaintively.

Konoha chuckled. “I get to sleep in a proper bed. That’s exciting enough for me. Thank you so much, Hinata. Truly. The bed, the sheets, the _very_ classy screen… I couldn’t have made any this happen on my own. Free lessons for a year.”

Hinata looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Tempting, but I had something else in mind.”

Konoha’s heart started beating faster. “What _did_ you have in mind?”

“I want you to do some paintings for the shop.”

Konoha was relieved, alarmed, and somehow _disappointed_ , all at the same time. “Oh,” he said. “Right. Uh, what sort of stuff are you thinking?” Just then, his back did something he’d have a hard time not calling a spasm. “ _Ah!_ Fuck.”

“Spine still ‘working itself out?’” Hinata asked pointedly, and Konoha shot him a sour look. Hinata just rolled his eyes. “Wait here.” He walked into the studio/bedroom and emerged with all of Konoha’s semi-ruined sheets, which he tossed on the new bed.

“Uh, those won’t fit the…”

“I know they won’t.” Rather than trying to fit the sheets to the bed, he just folded each on in half, then stacked the bottom and top sheet together, and laid the pile across the middle of the bed. Rather than explain, he just walked away again, now into the bathroom. When he emerged this time, he was carrying a slim yellow bottle. “Why do you have this?”

“Have wha—oh. I said one thing to my aunt about how her nails looked nice and she went a little overboard.”

“Ohhhhh,” Hinata said. “That explains all the buffers and emery boards! Wow, that makes way more sense. Your hands are a disaster. Just as an artist’s hands should be,” he was quick to add. “Shirt off, you on the bed.”

_Oh_. Konoha looked at him skeptically. “You’re a masseuse now?”

“No, but I used to date a woman whose wife was, and she taught me a lot.” Konoha hadn’t yet moved, and that statement didn’t inspire it. But then Hinata snapped his fingers and commanded, “Shirt! Bed!”

Konoha reluctantly obeyed, but apparently he didn’t arrange himself on the old sheets as precisely as Hinata wished, because he fussed with them, pulling the sides and tugging at corners until he was satisfied. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Hinata then straddled Konoha and settled his weight down. And that’s okay. Everything about this situation is fine. There is no danger, there is no need to be afraid of anything. Konoha heard the cap click on the bottle of almond oil, and a few seconds later felt Hinata’s hands land at the base of his neck. “ _Ohhhhhhhhh_ ,” Konoha groaned when Hinata started with a long squeeze all the way out to his deltoids, and then, “jesus fuuuuuuck,” when he dig his thumbs into Konoha’s trapezius. “Okay, okay,” he said, already breathing deeper. “This was an _excellent_ idea.”

“All of my ideas are excellent,” Hinata immediately shot back, then sighed and said, “Okay, lots of… _some_ of my ideas are excellent.”

Konoha laughed, but it was a breathy little sound. “Could you, my quadratus lumborum is… oh, sorry, that’s my… _ahhhhhhhhhhh_ yeah that.” He sighed. “That’s a strange thing for you to know.”

“Dude, did you forget my original life plan? Pro athletes have to know a thing or two about anatomy.” He pressed his fingers down along either side Konoha’s spine, earning another moan. “ _I_ think it’s a strange thing for _you_ to know.”

Konoha shrugged, if only barely. “Anatomy for figure drawing,” he mumbled.

“Well aren’t we just a pair of strange fonts of knowledge?” Hinata quipped.

Konoha just sort of hummed, and relaxed further into the bed. His beautiful, comfortable, brand-new bed. He sighed happily.

Time got a little blurry for him at that point. It was just warm, and nice, and sometimes there was a little pain, but the good kind, the kind that meant something was getting better. It took him a while to register that Hinata’s weight was gone.

Or rather, had shited. Hinata was lying next to him, curled up, and apparently watching Konoha for signs of life, because when Konoha’s eyes focused on him, he smiled broadly. “Better?”

Konoha smiled, too. “Yeah. Better.”

“Good,” Hinata said with a nod. “Now let’s get the real sheets on the bed.”

“If we have to,” Konoha sighed.

With two of them working, it didn’t take long. Much better than on your own.

“Want to stay for dinner?” Konoha asked when they were done. “I was going to make curry, and I always make too much.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Cooking feels so much better when you’re doing it for someone else.

When dinner was eaten and the dishes done, Hinata loitered by the door for a while, making whatever idle chit-chat he could. “Hey, do you want to stay and watch a movie or something?”

Hinata grinned. “Oh! Sure! What have you got?”

By the time the credits were rolling, Konoha was tired enough that he wasn’t entirely sure what they’d just watched. But Hinata seemed happy. “Thanks for the movie. Even if you did sleep through half of it.” Ah, that explained it. Hinata started to rise from the sofa, but Konoha reached out and gently tugged him back down. “What is it?” Hinata asked.

“Stay,” Konoha said, simply.

Hinata looked uncertain. “Stay?”

Konoha smiled. “You don’t have to. But if you want to… then stay.”

Hinata stayed.

The next morning, Konoha woke up to the sound of a kettle whistling and a wonderful smell. This was not his bed, oh my god, where the fuck was—

“Breakfast!” Hinata’s head popped around the folding screen. “Get up!” he said, then disappeared again.

That’s right. This was his bed. He would never have guessed that he’d manage to break it in so soon. What a great bed. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, then crawled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. When behind him, Hinata cheered, “Naked breakfast!” Konoha smiled.

Then he put on his most academic face, turned to face Hinata, and said, “Darling, I’m an artist. I’m not naked, I’m nude.”

Hinata laughed so loud Konoha thought the neighbors might complain.

When they were seated and eating, Hinata said, “I’m afraid we won’t have too many breakfasts together. It might seem silly to other people, but I still like to be there to open Karasuno whenever I can.”

Konoha took Hinata’s hand and brushed a kiss over his knuckles. “I expected nothing less.”

~

And so Konoha’s normal changed again. He started working on the paintings for Karasuno, and Hinata was there to provide feedback and… encouragement, at least two night a week. They were abstracts, at least to the casual observer, but Konoha carefully explained how each one was a portrait of one of the employees. The only giveaway that the paintings were related at all would have to be those for Giant and 1.0. They’d remained in uncertainty all the way through Christmas, and while they weren’t happy that there had been a betting pool, the chunk of cash helped soothe the hurt, and far more importantly, they finally knew they felt the same way about each other. In recognition of that, Their portraits were… not a mirror image, more like puzzle pieces fitting together. To him it seemed glaring and obvious, but even Hinata, to whom he specifically pointed it out, said he didn’t really see it.

He got the painting part done surprisingly quickly, but it’d still take a few months to let them dry and then varnish them. He’d used as thin an application as he could, so it shouldn’t take much longer than that. Hinata did _not_ understand why he couldn’t just put them up once they were touch dry, eventually leading Konoha to just say, “Trust me on this, okay? And believe me, you want them varnished. In a place like a café, the easier they are to clean the better.” Hinata had to admit he had a point.

One day—it was something bland, like a Thursday, no weekend significance and none of the poignancy that clings to Tuesdays—Konoha walked into the studio, looked at the paintings he’d looked at every day for months and months, and broke down. He did it quietly, but that was the only saving grace. _I know what it is to be swallowed up_. With the part of his mind that wasn’t screaming, Konoha tried to think of a reason why this was happening. He’d been taking his meds, following sleep hygiene protocol, eating well, even exercising a little. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t… he hadn’t… he…

_—it was heavy, he hadn’t realized a gun would be that heavy when it looked so small—_

but…

_—to the next page and started writing a new one, the next person he needed to say goodbye—_

this…

_—holding that hideous cat scarf he’d given him with a card reading ‘see you @ Els Quatre Gats’—_

was…

_—being angry he was sad, and sad he was angry, and he couldn’t keep—_

“Akinori?”

Footsteps. A creak.

“Oh my god. Akinori, what… what happened? What’s wrong?”

Something touched him and he flinched.

“Okay. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

More sounds, more movement. Something else touched him. Wrapped around him. It was soft, and when it covered him up his skin didn’t hurt as much. He sank his fingers into it.

“Good, hold onto the blanket, we need to warm you up. I’d really like for you to come back into the main room with me, but I don’t know what you’re experiencing right now so I’m not going to try to make you do anything. I’m just going to hang out in here with you.”

A pause.

“Okay so you’ll never guess what finally happened at Karasuno today. If I have to tell you this again later, that’s fine by me, because it’s worth retelling. Ad nauseam. Especially where Tanaka can hear. So Peppermint Mocha, whose name, it turns out is Kiyoko…”

Konoha could hear him. That much was maxing him out right now, but it would get better. And it did. Eventually, he turned his head enough to look at Hinata. And then he just looked and looked. Hinata kept talking.

“If I painted you, I wouldn’t have to change it.” Oh, his voice did _not_ sound good.

Hinata’s eyes fluttered shut, and he pressed a hand over his mouth for a moment. When his eyes opened again, they were a little teary. “Ohhhhkay. There you are. Okay. Come on honey, let’s go. It’s freezing in here.” Hinata helped Konoha make his way to the sofa, keeping him wrapped in his blanket. “I’m going to make you some tea, okay?” Konoha nodded.

When Hinata returned and set the tea on the coffee table in front of him, Konoha mumbled, “Cmrbdty.”

“Pardon?”

Konoha tried again. “Comorbidity.”

“Oh.” Hinata took a seat beside him. “Yeah, I figur… well, wondered, anyway. What exactly…?”

“Oh god, it’s a laundry list.”

“Fun times.”

“All day, every day.” Konoha shook his head. “There was a woman who said that a lot where I was hospitalized the first time.” After a pause he added, “I wonder what happened to her, sometimes. Wonder about all of them.” He reached out a picked up his cup. “Thank you for making tea.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Konoha sipped his tea and made a tiny pleased noise. “Perfect, as ever.” He took another sip. “Do you want me to talk about it?”

“Not unless you want to.”

Konoha considered this for a while, and eventually said, “You know actually, I kind of think I do. I mean…” he stopped and frowned. “This is going to sound bad, but even though I don’t really want to talk about it, I have to tell you eventually, and it might as well be while I’m already upset. Does that make sense?”

“Of course. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Konoha rubbed his eyes. “Just... just let me do it all in one go, yeah?” Hinata nodded, and Konoha started in. “There was a guy I met freshman year at university, in the art program. He was good—better than me, at least—and we hit it off right away.” He read Hinata’s face and shook his head. “No, no. Not like that.” He looked down into his tea and didn’t speak for a bit, just watched the steam form and swirl. Eventually, like it was dragged out of him, he softly said, “Well, maybe a little like that.”

He resituated himself slightly on the sofa. “I don’t even remember exactly what turned us onto the idea, we were in a basic 20th century history class, and while discussing Picasso, the professor must have made a comment about Casagemas, or maybe he was mentioned in our textbook, but we just latched on. We honestly had almost nothing in common with either of them,” he said with a short exhale. “It was just the glamor of the idea, I guess. To imagine doing what they did, pick up together and move to Paris for the sake of our art. We were never going to do it, of course. But when we were joking around, I’d call him Picasso, and he’d call me Casagemas.” He shut his eyes and took a long, slow breath. “Funny how we got that the wrong way ‘round.”

Konoha suddenly realized Hinata might lack context. “I don’t know if you remember this, I told you about this portion of my book, but I can’t remember shit about coffee beans, so. But um, the reason Picasso gives for beginning what would come to be called his Blue Period was the death of his friend Carlos Casagemas. By suicide.” Hinata drew in a sharp breath but Konoha didn’t flinch. “Gunshot wound to the right temple on the seventeenth of February, 1901.” He shook his head. “What baffled me was that he didn’t just match the style, gun to the right temple, but he matched the date, too. _How_ would someone do that? Wait, suffering, until the day prescribed, just for the sake of some joke you had going with a friend?”

He looked down again, into his now-lukewarm tea. “After that, I couldn’t… he was gone. My life was already going to pieces, and then he was gone. There wasn’t… anything left. I went out and got a gun, same as him. I sure as hell wasn’t waiting for February seventeenth though.” He looked up again. “The damn thing misfired. Can you believe that? The odds on that one…. So what do you do after that? The universe has spoken, and it wants you to live. Really, what do you do? Because ‘bipolar artist attempts suicide’ doesn’t play so well if you ever want to be seen as anything but that stereotype. If you want anyone to treat you the same way.” He shrugged. “So I didn’t tell anyone. Not for years, and only then health professionals. It’s not like anyone had seen me, not like anyone could know.”

He was finally warm enough that he could comfortably shed his blanket cocoon. “And in the end, I was so fucking grateful to that shitty gun.  Not because I was glad I was alive. That usually wasn’t true. But because as I watched the ripples from his death I learned something.” He paused. “How do I explain this?” He looked down, brow furrowed. “It’s… it can make you so mad. So resentful. ‘What do you mean I have to suffer like this, suffer _this much_ every day for the rest of my life, just because _you_ want me to?’ But when you’ve been on the other side of the equation…” He shook his head minutely. “It… clarifies things, I guess. Because you realize that if you commit suicide, it’s not just you who dies. Everyone who loved you dies, too.”

He pointed toward the studio door. “And so I started those.” He snorted. “What will undoubtedly be remembered by history as ‘Konoha’s Anti-Blue Period.’” He sighed. “The floor is now open for questions.”

“I get the orange, even if only in terms of the basic color wheel you taught me, but what are the paintings? Where did they come from? What’s in them?”

“I looked at the Blue Period paintings, and I wanted to create the opposite. I wanted my paintings to be about life, and joy, and human goodness, but the blue paintings were still there, underneath. All that happened was that the colors got poisoned for me.” He looked at Hinata. “Except you. You were those colors. Not because of your hair—though it didn’t hurt—but because of… of how you are with people. How you are with yourself. I don’t have to use lines and shapes and carefully applied color to make you joyful, to make you beautiful. Because you already are.”

Hinata looked… almost _shy_ , which was surreal in itself. “You think?”

“I know,” Konoha said simply.

Hinata’s answering smile was bright enough to light up the whole city, and when he saw it, Konoha felt like all the background noise in his head just faded away. He bonelessly sank back into the sofa and held out an arm for Hinata to tuck himself under.

As he situated himself Hinata continued the conversation with, “You do seem to know a bit about art. I think I’ll trust your judgment.”

“‘A bit about art,’” Konoha grumbled. “That makes one of us, for all your efforts.”

Hinata snuggled in against him. “Oh honey, it’s adorable that you still believe I came here to pursue, ‘Art.’”

Konoha squawked. “What?!”

“Shhhhh,” Hinata soothed. “It’s fine.”

“You… you… the paint, and, and the bed, and the… you…” Konoha exhaled, long and slow. Then laughed. “Honestly? Thank god. History and theory fall through your head like it’s a sieve, and I love you, but you are a _terrible_ painter.”

Hinata didn’t even twitch. “I’m just unappreciated in my time.”

Konoha was about to volley back, then just smiled, and wrapped his arm a little tighter around Hinata. “I appreciate you,” he said softly. “I know today wasn’t… easy. But I’m so thankful you’re still here.”

“And I will be,” Hinata mumbled. “All day, every day. Hmm. Figuratively speaking,” he added, sensibly. Konoha didn’t respond right away, and after a moment, Hinata asked, “You doing okay now?”

Konoha took stock of himself. “I don’t know about ‘okay’ yet. But I’m definitely better.”

“Better is good.”

“Better is great,” Konoha amended. He looked around the room to see signs of Hinata everywhere, obviously in the corner of the room taken up by the bed, but also in the dishes in the sink, the manga on the coffee table, in the fact that the disc tray of the DVD player was sticking out because Hinata never remembered it wouldn’t close automatically like his own did. And, of course, in the man himself, now sprawled at least halfway onto Konoha’s lap. He smiled. “Better was exactly what I needed,” he murmured softly.

Hinata started snoring.

And for some stupid reason, that was better still.

**Author's Note:**

> But like, ornithologist!Akaashi and his as-close-as-a-man-can-get-to-being-an-owl bf!! So great!!! I need to draw that or something. Idk. I have like, shows to catch up on and stuff. Including this one. I DIDN’T WATCH THE SHOW SO I COULD WRITE ABOUT THE SHOW.
> 
> PSA: Kids, don’t buy someone a bed unless you’re going to stay with them forever. Beds (well, mattresses) are CRAZY expensive if you buy them new. Or at least, they are where I live. Yikes. Do not recommend.
> 
> PSA2: Kids, just because your asshole boyfriend loves dinosaurs, it doesn’t mean you have to buy him EVERY FOSSIL UNDER THE SUN. Come on. That’s just tacky.
> 
> PSA3: Kids… nope, I’m out. Thanks for reading!


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